Fracture
by The Tenth
Summary: Shuichi misunderstands the importance Yuki places on his writing. They both struggle to find a way to meet each other halfway. YukiXShuichi, also TohmaYuki, HiroShuichi COMPLETE
1. Fracture

Fracture

Yuki felt agitation prickling under his skin even before Shuichi opened his mouth and said the wrong words. It was a matter that had been nagging the back of Eiri's mind long before he realized what was bothering him. Not that the realization made things any better.

Three weeks ago, his latest novel went into print. It was the first one he'd written from cover to cover while he had been with Shuichi, and right away he could tell this one was different. When he'd finished the manuscript, he didn't feel his usual sense of weary accomplishment. Instead, he felt his pulse throbbing in his throat. When he delivered it to his publisher, he carried with him a feeling of twisting anxiety. By the time his book was in print, he'd started experiencing regular chest pains.

Copies flew off the shelves, shattering his previous record for opening sales. The fan response was frenzied. But none of it brought him any peace. Even during Yuki's publicity interviews or rare book signings, Shuichi was oblivious to it all.

The boy's only reaction to the completed manuscript had been: "Great! Now you can spend more time with me!" When the novel hit bookstores and drew media attention, Shuichi only opened a copy long enough to fawn over the photo of Eiri splashed on the inside of the dust jacket.

He hadn't read a page. And for some strange reason, it was driving Yuki crazy. A bitter malaise settled in his stomach, deepening each day Shuichi showed no interest in his novel. Eiri told himself repeatedly that he shouldn't care, that it didn't matter, that Shuichi wouldn't understand his work anyway. But nevertheless, it _did_ bother him.

Resentment gnawed at the author's insides, leaving him irritable and hollow. Like a log that had been chewed away by termites, Yuki was left with a pristine exterior but a core that was brittle, empty, ready to crumble at the slightest provocation.

Weeks later, the swelling tension finally burst. Yuki couldn't even remember how the argument had started. Admittedly, he'd been more testy than usual since the discovery of Shuichi's disinterest. It was likely that Yuki was the one who had started this particular bickering match, but it was one last comment of Shuichi's that finally set him over the edge.

"You never understand how I feel," Shuichi said sullenly, wiping dampness from the corner of his eyes, "For someone _who writes romance novels, _you're awfully insensitive."

The words touched a raw nerve and Yuki's lips drew together in a hard line of displeasure. How dare he bring up the novels as fuel in an argument without having read even one of them?

He looked down at Shuichi through a cold gaze. The boy's eyes were red and swollen from fighting back tears. His mouth frozen in a petulant frown. In that moment, he looked like a stubborn child in the midst of a tantrum.

"I don't have time for this crap," Yuki said tersely. "I'm going back to work." He turned his face away and headed towards his study.

"You always do that!" Shuichi blurted, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "You don't care about anyone but yourself!"

Anger rose in the back Yuki's throat like bitter bile at these words. How dare Shuichi accuse _him_ of being selfish?

Yuki had gone to Shuichi's concerts. Watched his television interviews from home. He endured Shuichi's constant ramblings about the music scene, and his whining when things went wrong. He had been silently supportive through all the rock star's highs and lows.

Shuichi, on the other hand, hadn't read any of Yuki's novels, including the recent one that had tied painful knots in his chest. Rather than empathizing with Yuki's need for artistic expression, he complained endlessly about the amount of time Yuki spent writing in his study. In Shuichi's limited understanding, he surely thought that Yuki locked himself away as a silent punishment rather than a necessity of the writing process.

Shindou was the selfish one, playing the tragic hero oppressed from all sides. He wallowed in self-pity during times of artistic difficulties, expecting others to talk him back up when he was down. But through it all, it was as though it had never even occurred to him that Yuki's writing might be as important to him as singing was to Shuichi.

A hanging silence followed, suspended in the air after Shuichi's outburst. The boy tensed, eyes cringed shut, not regretting his harsh words, just fearing Yuki's reaction.

Yuki's expression remained serene, but he clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. He wanted to yell at the brat, point out his hypocrisy. He wanted to ask Shuichi why he'd never taken an interest in I his /I life and art. But expressing himself verbally had never been Yuki's strong suit. Anything he wanted to say sounded pathetic and desperate and he wasn't about to lower himself to that.

"You're right," he said flatly. "I'm sure you'd be much happier with someone else. Why don't you go off and work on that?"

Yuki waved towards the door carelessly, hoping Shuichi would leave. The tightness in his chest continued to build as long as he stood there. It was becoming hard to look his lover in the eye without an unsettling pain forming in his throat.

"No!" Shuichi said, his eyes wide with alarm. His stubbornness had instantly vanished, replaced by fear of abandonment. He knew Yuki wasn't entirely serious, but the harshness in those words warned him against taking him too lightly. "I just meant… I mean… You _could _be a little nicer to me." He offered a weak smile of apology.

_Always thinking of himself…_

Yuki ignored his words and snatched his coat from the countertop, swirling it around his shoulders and thrusting his hands roughly into the sleeves. His hope that Shuichi would finally realize what he'd been doing wrong lay shattered across the tiles of the front foyer. He couldn't stand this feeling any longer he didn't have the energy to kick Shuichi out and deal with his protests. He would rather be turned out of his own apartment.

"I'm going out," he said simply.

"Y-Yuki," Shuichi said meekly, "I'm sorry…" His earlier anger and bravado was gone. He never could stand up to his lover for long.

Yuki grabbed his keys and a pack of cigarettes from the tabletop by the front door. "You're in my way."

Shuichi didn't stand aside, so Yuki walked around him, pushing through the fog of desperate protests, leaving them behind.

Yuki drove through the city, appreciating the solitude that the car afforded him. He had no particular direction in mind as he drove, but he still felt as though he was being led somewhere. When he pulled to a stop and cut the engine, he found himself in a familiar place, but not entirely where he'd expected to land.

Feeling in no mood to argue with destiny—or anyone else for that matter—Yuki approached the front door and knocked casually with the back of his knuckles.

The man who opened the door looked bored and disinterested until he recognized the face of his visitor. "Eiri-san," Tohma breathed, his face eclipsed with a combination of surprise and wonderment.

Yuki took a final deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled through the corner of his mouth. "Mind if I come in?"


	2. Infraction

Infraction

"Eiri-san," Tohma breathed in numb surprise. His brother-in-law rarely stopped by unless Mike forced him to, but here he stood.

Yuki took a final deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled through the corner of his mouth. "Mind if I come in?"

"Of course," Tohma said, stepping back and gesturing for Yuki to enter.

Yuki dropped his spent cigarette on the cement outside the doorway, ground it under his heel and stepped inside.

Tohma's condo was immaculately clean and always high style. Unlike Yuki's relatively blank and unadorned apartment, there were meaningful mementos, soulful paintings, and vivid colors all decorating Tohma's apartment. The man clearly used his living space to express himself. Maybe Yuki's drab décor was a reflection of himself as well.

Tohma received Yuki with placid good humor. He gestured to his plush, cream-colored couch, urging Yuki to make himself comfortable like the good host he was. Inwardly, the president's mind was abuzz with thought. He was delighted Yuki was here; that much was certain. He felt a dark thrill of relieved delight in knowing that Mika was gone for the weekend visiting family.

Something serious must have happened to jostle his brother enough into visiting him unannounced. This could be just the chance for him to lift Yuki back up and for the two of them to… draw closer that Tohma had been hoping for these past years. Yuki had delivered himself here like a package and they now had all the time and solitude Tohma craved to enjoy his company.

"Would you like something to eat?" Tohma asked. He already knew Yuki would decline, but he had to offer anyway. The author looked a little haggard today, like he could use something inside him.

"Do you have anything to drink?" Yuki asked instead. He took off his coat and dropped himself onto the couch. That wretched anxiety still clamped his chest like a vice and already his fingers twitched for another cigarette.

He reached into the pocket of his coat tossed over the sofa arm and reached past the pack of name-brand cigarettes for something more soothing. He put the half-tobacco spliff in his lips and lit it with steady fingers. He took a deep drag and settled deeper into the couch, waiting for the familiar buzz of chemical euphoria to take the edge off his problems.

Tohma returned with two glasses of scotch on the rocks. He knew without having to ask what drinks Yuki preferred. He saw the thin haze of smoke hanging in front of Yuki's face, smelled the mellow undercurrent, sweeter than tobacco alone. He frowned slightly, but said nothing and placed a drink into Yuki's hand.

"You must be very pleased with your latest book," Tohma said brightly, settling on the couch next to Yuki. He felt his brother's body go tense when he chose to sit on the couch cushion immediately next to him rather than leaving a cushion-wide gap between them. Yuki was like some wounded wild animal that grew hostile with fear when someone drew near to help bandage him.

Yuki shrugged his feigned indifference, but not before Tohma noticed the change in his expression that told him the novel might have been something of a raw issue. He pressed further. "It's clearly your highest-selling and I can understand why. The story is addictive; your characters' emotions more visceral than ever before."

Yuki's face changed noticeably, but into something unidentifiable. It might have been suppressed happiness or discomfort. "You've read it already?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I did," Tohma said with a little laughter in his voice to show that it was a foolish question. "You know I've bought every one of your books on its first day of release. This one I couldn't put down. There's so much raw desperation in your characters, but more tenderness to temper it, too."

Yuki leaned forward to flick ash into the artistic ashtray on the coffee table in front of him. Even once all the ash had fallen from his hand-rolled cigarette, his thumb kept flicking the opposite end as if trying to shake more off. He took deep drink from his whiskey glass, setting the ice cubes clinking.

"If I didn't know your style so well, I might almost think it was a ghost writer; your novel was so different this time," Tohma said, "Maybe Shindou-san is becoming a more powerful influence in your writing?"

Tohma secretly felt that the violence and dark romance in Eiri's writing originally stemmed from the influence of Kitazawa Yuki that left Eiri's emotions in tatters. Betrayal, lust, anguish, and love all combined in Eiri's usual novels to form an intoxicating but poisonous story. This latest work was sweeter, but the emotions all the more razor-sharp and real at the same time, inspired by a different muse than the dead man whose name Tohma despised.

Yuki shrugged again. "It's not like I was writing to him, if that's what you mean," he said. Possibly a little defensive?

Tohma mulled this last statement over, believing just the opposite. Could it be that this was the issue that was bothering Yuki? Had that novel been a thinly-veiled autobiography of sorts? A 300-page love letter meant for Shuichi to read between the lines?

A sad smile crossed Tohma's face. He felt wistfully jealous that Yuki would never compose such a passionate message just for him. It advanced his certainty that Shuichi could never fulfill Yuki emotionally and intellectually the way Tohma could. The foolish child was blissfully unaware of the passionate love stories being composed subconsciously in his name. He was probably crying into a _sake_ cup that very moment about Yuki's emotional detachment, ignorant that thousands of readers across the nation were reading a hidden message that was really written only for him.

"He didn't read it, did he?" Tohma asked quietly. "Shindou-san, I mean."

Yuki snorted his grim indignance. "That little blockhead wouldn't read so much as the instructions on an instant ramen package."

Tohma took a ginger sip of his liquor, then set it down as delicately as if he were in a formal tea ceremony. "Some people are just like that," he said gently, "Not the literary type. Rather than letting it frustrate you, you should learn to accept that it's just not the sort of person he is."

Yuki's expression flickered into darkness, confliction. For a moment, Tohma was sure that he was going to deny that Shuichi's disinterest bothered him. Instead, the author let Tohma's words sink in. He seemed to believe them because he looked more depressed than before.

"But what if that's important to me?" he asked in a quiet voice. He lifted his intense gaze to Tohma's eyes.

"If that type of interest and understanding are necessary for you in a relationship," Tohma began, choosing his words carefully, "Then it may be in your best interest to find someone you know could provide it." He ran his fingers through his hair, looking casual despite his pounding pulse. "I mean, it hardly seems fair to force expectations on Shindou-san that he can't meet. Like trying to force someone into a mold they just won't fit."

Yuki stubbed out the cigarette into the ashtray. Despite his obvious attempts to keep his expression aloof, Tohma's words clearly affected him with their harsh practicality. He wore the expression of a boy who had just been told that his beloved dog was sick beyond recovery and needed to be put down.

Tohma felt a shiver caress his spine like icy fingers. He had never felt so close to winning Yuki as he did in this moment. The author dangled on a precipice and Tohma subconsciously held his breath, waiting for the author to collapse into him.

Meanwhile, Yuki's mind raced in response to Tohma's words. How the hell did he do it? Somehow in the short time since he'd walked through the door, Tohma had already cut to the core of him. He somehow knew Yuki's mind better than he knew himself. He didn't waste words or play head games, but cut straight to the point. The man was brilliantly insightful, disquietingly so. Did that mean he was right? Was he better off looking for a new partner than forcing unrealistic expectations on Shuichi? Was it really as important to him as all that?

"Why don't you stay with me a while?" Tohma suggested gently. His voice was tender, supportive. "Just get away for a few days until you can sort things out, hmm?" He gently placed his arm around Yuki's shoulders, drawing his head gently towards him until the younger man's head lay cradled in the soft of his shoulder.

Warning chimes clanged in Yuki's head, suddenly feeling like a predator's victim rather than a psychologist's patient as he had a moment earlier. Whether Tohma was right about Shuichi being unable to change or not, it seemed obvious that he had been subtly suggesting himself as the alternative—the man who could fulfill Yuki's need for understanding. Tohma was brilliant, but perhaps not so subtle as he fancied himself. Or else he underestimated Yuki's ability to read him as well.

With his head still cradled on Tohma's chest, Yuki felt a sense of dark nostalgia mixed with his unease and confusion. Tohma's flat suddenly smelled like New York and he felt a woozy lightheadedness. His eyes dropped downward and he caught a glimpse of Tohma's thick erection tenting out the fabric of his expensive slacks. Yuki immediately felt he was going to be ill.

"I don't feel well," he said. He pushed out of the circle of Tohma's arms and stood abruptly. "I think I'll go back out. To think about what you said." The air in the room suddenly felt stifling, insufficient. He grabbed his coat and stalked towards the front door.

Tohma gaped after him, stunned. His body throbbed with frustration. What had gone wrong? How had things turned so quickly out of his favor? He groped for words even as Yuki's hand found the doorknob.

"Say hi to Mika for me," Yuki said, his words heavy with meaning. He wasn't the sort to idly drop messages of goodwill for his sister. More likely, he was striking out at Tohma with reminder that he was a married man, to his sister nonetheless.

Tohma finally got a word out, but the sound was deadened by the door slamming behind Yuki. He dropped his head into his hands, wondering where he'd gone wrong.

"Fuck."


	3. Frailty

Frailty

Shuichi sang his passion into the microphone. His pulse throbbed in his throat and a _sake_ buzz left him lightheaded by the time the song was over. Ever the performer, he made a sweeping bow to his audience of one.

Hiro smiled at him and applauded his friend's performance politely. Shuichi's singing wasn't in its best form when he'd been drinking, but there was no one else to hear it anyway.

Shuichi had called Hiro's cell phone earlier 'just to talk,' but Hiro could tell just by Shuichi's voice that he needed more than that. He quickly made up a story that he was in the mood to rent a private karaoke box and invited Shuichi out.

He gave Shuichi a ride on the back of his motorcycle, which Hiro knew he liked. He knew he would end up driving the singer home anyway. If Shuichi was as upset as he sounded, he would probably be drunk of the night. Now they found themselves holed up in the private booth, paying by the hour to sing bad pop and Nittle Grasper songs together.

Shuichi was used to singing the lead and opted for more solo pieces than duets, but that suited Hiro fine. Hiro had never been proud of his singing voice and had only suggested this location of all places because he knew it was a sure bet for cheering up his friend. Nothing made Shuichi happy quite like singing his heart out.

Shuichi collapsed back onto the padded bench, spent from singing and passed the mic to Hiro. Face flushed and breathing hard, Shuichi almost looked like someone who had expended himself sexually rather than vocally.

Hiro was reluctant to break the mood, but he had always been the type who preferred to confront problems rather than avoid them. Rather than directly ask his friend how the relationship with Yuki was going, he decided to bring up the relationship in a more indirect route.

"Things must be going pretty well for Yuki lately," Hiro said casually, pretending to peruse the song listings. "His latest novel is really good. I can see why it's selling so well."

"I guess," Shuichi said. He scuffed his foot on the tile floor sullenly. Had _everone_ in the world read the book but him?

"You didn't care for it?" Hiro asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I didn't read it," Shuichi said. He sighed and scratched at his hair, feeling uncomfortable. "I mean… Well, I _tried_ to read it. But the kanji is just so _hard._ I feel like I can't get through a single paragraph without a dictionary. You remember how much I hated our literature classes in high school."

Hiro nodded knowingly. "I don't think you would have got through them if I didn't give you the test answers."

"See? Exactly!" Shuichi said dismally. "It just… makes me feel dumb. Like even if I could read through it no problem, Yuki would probably just think I don't 'get it' or… What if I read it and it's really the best thing ever?"

Hiro cocked his head at Shuichi inquisitively. "Why would that be a bad thing?"

"It's already hard enough living in Yuki's shadow," Shuichi said, "I feel… frozen every time I try writing lyrics ever since I've been with him. And that's just from his _reputation _for being a good writer. If I really read his stuff and saw for myself, how could I ever write lyrics for Bad Luck again?"

"Mmm." Hiro nodded, deep in thought. That was certainly a valid point. He didn't relish the thought of Shuichi getting another bout of writer's block. And despite the way he teased Shuichi sometimes, he knew that it wouldn't be the same if he or Fujisaki tried to write the lyrics instead. "I see what you're saying, but what if he thinks you're just not interested? I mean, he listens to you talk about Bad Luck all the time."

"But that's because I _talk_ about Bad Luck all the time!" Shuichi said, exasperated, "How can I listen to him talk about his books if he never says anything about them? And there's no way I can be the one to bring it up. He'll probably think anything I have to say about his books is stupid."

Hiro shrugged at this. "I dunno, man, but the heroine in his latest book was a _lot_ like you in many ways… I think you'd like it. Yuki's more of an expressive guy than he lets on. At least in his writing. I know you're not a fan of that kind of book, but, seriously, maybe he's not the biggest fan of our kind of music."

Shuichi pressed his knees together and fidgeted with his fingers in his lap. Why did Hiro always have to think things out so far? And worse, why did it have to be so _right_ all the time?

"I don't even know what kind of music he likes. Maybe none. He never talks about it," Shuichi said.

Hiro tossed his hair over his shoulder. "All I'm sayin' is that there's probably a lot you could learn about him even if he doesn't talk about it. You're always saying you want to know more about him, but he doesn't talk about himself. Why not just read his novels or go to the websites he frequents? I'll bet you could learn a lot more about him that way without having to even ask him directly."

Despite his attempts to cling to his self-pitying mood, Shuichi couldn't help but feel a gleeful optimism at this prospect. He always relished finding out more about Yuki. This could be the perfect opportunity. He bit his lips together, trying not to smile as he already began to plan his 'love reconnaissance.'

"I'll even tell you the summary of what the book's about so you can kind of get the 'cliff notes' version before you read it," Hiro said, "Just like in high school."

"Thanks, man," Shuichi said, visibly cheered. "…Now hand over that mic if you're not going to use it or I'll tie you up with the cord!"

Hiro laughed and handed the microphone back. "I'd hate to separate the master from his craft," he said.

The guitarist looked on in amazement as Shuichi sang the next song. The passion Shuichi wielded on stage was back in full force. And even though Hiro knew he was the only one who could hear Shuichi's voice, he could tell his best friend truly sang for a different audience of one—the enigmatic blond man who sometimes lurked in the back row of the concert hall.


	4. Fusion

Here's the fourth and final chapter to my Fracture series. Deep thanks go out to those who have given me so much encouragement and feedback on this story. Your comments are invaluable and I've never been so productive in my writing. I can't thank you enough.

Fusion:

Shuichi whistled as he skipped up the front steps to Yuki's apartment. A night out with Hiro proved to have been just what he needed and he still felt joyfully giddy. His mind buzzed with his favorite songs and countless 'lover undercover' ideas for ways to find out more about Yuki.

He swung a canvas messenger bag bulging with books in one hand. At Hiro's suggestion, they'd stopped back at the guitarist's apartment to pick up a few things—a simplified kanji dictionary, a book of mnemonics for kanji memorization, and Hiro's own copy of Yuki's novel to pore over.

Shuichi's whistling died down to a hushed hum as he unlocked the front door. With all the progress he'd made with Hiro that night, he'd all but forgotten that Yuki had left angry earlier that same night. His heart sank and he bit his lip. Another night sleeping on the sofa. He would be lucky if Yuki came back that night at all. Oh, well. Any time he had to himself would be time well-spent studying Yuki's novels. Hiro had already given him a good summary on the basics of the book so he felt well prepared.

Shuichi slipped towards the dark living room to grab the mangled notebook he used to write his lyrics--it seemed an appropriately inspirational place to write down his observations on Yuki's novel. When he rounded the corner, however, he was stunned to find Yuki hovering over the notebook already. The vocalist nearly yelped in surprise from being so sure he was home alone.

Yuki was sitting on the couch in Shuichi's usual spot with a pen cap in his mouth and his reading glasses perched on his nose. He was scrawling something into the notebook and looked almost a little guilty when he looked up to see Shuichi gaping back at him in surprise.

Yuki hastily finished the final line of text not a moment too soon. Shuichi had come home earlier than expected and caught him in the act. Whatever. It was something he wanted Shuichi to see, he'd just hoped he could have written it faster and not been around when he found it. Shuichi could then discover the writing at some future time and save Yuki from the edgy embarrassment that always nagged him when people read his work right in front of him.

"Hi, Yuki," Shuichi said demurely. He shuffled across the room in his stocking feet in hesitant mincing steps. There was a look of sheepish hopefulness there—a fear of undeserved harshness.

_Am I really so cold to him?_ Yuki pondered, feeling a stab at guilt. Here, he was the one trying to be an adult and set things right, but Shuichi was the one who wore an apologetic expression.

Despite the unpleasant circumstance and ulterior motive, Yuki had given a lot of thought to Tohma's words on the way home. He decided the man was right about one thing—it wasn't fair to expect Shuichi to read his novels. He'd known when he first bedded the boy that he wasn't exactly the literary type. Why did it make sense to expect that of him now?

But Tohma was wrong about how to deal with the problem. Abandoning Shuichi for difference of perspective was simply wrong, but Yuki still relied on his writing to express his affection since he felt too stunted to say it in person. He decided that he could still say what he wanted in writing—he would just be sure to do it in a language that Shuichi understood.

Yuki put on a somber expression, capped the pen and stood up from the couch taking off his glasses. "Welcome back," he said. He hoped his tone of voice projected the note of apology he couldn't bring himself to speak in words.

Shuichi's mincing steps broke into a happy lover's lope until he'd cross the room and draped himself over Yuki like an overcoat, wrapping his arms around his partner affectionately. "I missed you," he said, still feeling a happy buzz from his talk with Hiro. "Mmm… You smell good," he said softly, breathing in the scent of Yuki's pristine shirt.

His eyes fell to the notebook. "Whatcha writing?"

"Uhhh—" Yuki said, fumbling for good excuse.

Shuichi tromped over to the coffee table and picked up the spiral-bound notebook. The top page was covered in Yuki's pretty handwriting. It was a rare sight to see since the author preferred using his laptop to handwriting at almost every opportunity. His writing was drawn in crisp, immaculate, and somehow confident strokes—a stark contrast to Shuichi's careless scrawl. Shuichi would have been happy to have so much as a grocery list written in Yuki's hand, but as his eyes darted over the words on the page, he found he was holding so much more.

"Yuki, this is…" he began. He knew what he was looking at, but he did not understand.

"They're lyrics," Yuki said. It was too late to slip away, so he lit a cigarette he wasn't in the mood for just to keep his hands busy, to feign distraction. "You said you were stuck writing this latest one, right?"

Shuichi looked back down at the page of lyrics. They were deep, meaningful—clearly ideas that were well thought out, but in wording that was raw and improvised. It was a love song.

"Well I-I don't know what to say," Shuichi said, "These are awesome but—But this latest song was supposed to be more aggressive and, uhhm, well I'm not sure they would go along with the music tracks the guys already laid out." He winced as he said it, a little guilty. He hated to be ungrateful or critical, but he didn't want Yuki to be hurt that he couldn't use these lyrics. And why had this come up so suddenly anyway? He hoped he wasn't hurt…

"That's fine," Yuki said. He looked relieved rather than annoyed. "You can just keep it. For yourself." He shrugged. "Or future reference or whatever."

Shuichi's eyes widened in slow, but brilliant realization. He remembered what Hiro had said about the heroine in Yuki's latest book having an eerie amount in common with Shuichi. He thought of Hiro's suggestion that Yuki was more emotive in written than spoken words.

"No," Shuichi said with soft decisiveness, "These are much too personal. I'd rather just save them for inspiration." His eyes glowed warm adoration in Yuki's direction. It took everything in him to keep from squealing with joy and making a scene, but he knew that would only make Yuki embarrassed, maybe even take the page of lyrics back. He relied on his eyes to tell Yuki, 'Thank you, thank you, thank you… I love it.'

Yuki waved a dismissive hand. "Do what you want," he said.

Shuichi thought there was something that looked like the flickering start of a smile on Yuki's face, but it was quickly covered when the blond lifted his hand to the cigarette in his mouth, covering his lips.

"A-are you hungry?" Shuichi said, still quivering inside with lovesick excitement. "I'll cook us something."

Yuki arched a dubious eyebrow. "You? Cook?" He bit back a comment about how he didn't feel like spending the night doubled over with stomach cramps.

"I'll fry us some gyoza," Shuichi volunteered, undaunted. "It's the pre-made package kind so I can't screw it up _too_ bad!" He winked and stuck his tongue out in a cheerfully self-mocking expression.

"That sounds… perfect," Yuki said.

Shuichi still clutched the notebook in a death grip as he bounced into the kitchen. His first love letter from Yuki! That notebook wasn't going to leave his side for a second. It would be ages before he would go anywhere without it, and that suited them both just fine.


End file.
